


Even If Your World Ends (Never)

by ruethereal



Category: SHINee
Genre: Fluff, Friendsip, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruethereal/pseuds/ruethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee Jinki stopped living according to clichés a long time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even If Your World Ends (Never)

Lee Jinki stopped living according to clichés a long time ago. It’s probably the reason why it’s so easy for him to deal with his condition. He’s well aware that his sunny disposition coupled with his clumsiness falls anywhere between endearing and frustrating, but taking everything in stride has proven to be as easily said as it is done (so clichés can’t be avoided altogether).

He’d enrolled at university even though he has no real long-term professional goals just so he could dabble in whatever caught his attention. He’d found the perfect little apartment for himself, renting month to month. And while he isn’t familiar with the neighbors’ names, he knows everyone well enough by face to chat in passing. Working at a café nearby, he’s as friendly to newcomers as he is to regulars whom he recognizes by their orders instead of their names.

It doesn’t bother him at all that Jinki doesn’t have a large circle of friends. In all honesty, Jinki is close with only one person. He’d moved nearer to the city alone, straight out of high school and with nothing save a small sum of money and weepy well-wishes from his parents. Jinki doesn’t have much free time to socialize, but his friendship with Kim Kibum was an accident.

“Oh, good, someone young.”

Browsing in a bookstore several years ago, Jinki was approached by a boy who looked ready to topple over the bookshelves. Peroxide-blonde, soft-featured, and wearing a too-large sweater over too-clingy jeans, Kibum could’ve been mistaken for a girl if his voice wasn’t so deep and commanding.

“Your hand phone.”

Jinki blinked dumbly at the stranger’s palm.

“Fine. Let me borrow your hand phone,  _please_.”

When Jinki continued to stare, the boy made a disgruntled noise.

“Look, I dropped mine so I need to call it in case someone who isn’t a loser ready to sell it can give it back.  _And_  I would ask someone else here, but like I said, you’re the only one my age and I’d rather not ask that creeper in the magazine section. I  _do not_  want my number in his phone.”

Jinki offered an apologetic smile before saying, “But I don’t have one.”

“I—what?”

This time, it’s the boy at a loss, bemusement replacing his aggravation.

“That’s impossible.”

It took Jinki turning out all his pockets and allowing the boy’s face in his backpack to prove that, yes, it’s possible for someone to not have a phone. Which is how Jinki found himself being dragged to the nearest electronics store by the finally introduced Kim Kibum.

“I was thinking of getting a new one anyway,” he said simply. “Now come here so we can take a picture. Having matching models and a selca with me for your wallpaper is quite the honor, just saying.”

The hand phone with one picture and one number safe in his pocket, Jinki spent the rest of the day shopping with Kibum because ‘matching phones means matching charms which means matching scarves which means matching sweaters.’ While the one picture for his wallpaper hasn’t changed, Jinki now has (too) many phone numbers because ‘matching phones means matching friends; I have enough to share.’

Kibum is truly generous when it comes to sharing his friends, constantly and consistently inviting Jinki to any and all his gatherings. And Jinki is so grateful that he always shows face, if only staying just long enough to mingle and have Kibum show him off as his ‘totally cute best friend even though he sometimes acts like a martian.’

Still, Jinki doesn’t mind only having Kibum because the younger boy (“You’re older than me?” Kibum yelped at the end of that first day. “Geez, and I thought I was baby-faced”) is every type of best friend rolled up into one fashionably accessorized body. Kibum is at times motherly, spending at least one night a week at Jinki’s place to cook for him, at other times brotherly, insisting they share secrets and asking Jinki for advice on everything from college courses to relationships.

But that’s where he falls short in the best friend department: Jinki’s never been in a relationship.

“It’s because you’re too nice,” Kibum once said, sliding a headband through Jinki’s hair in preparation of their weekly facemask night. “Such a shame, too.”

But Jinki would beg to differ.

“You think so?”

“I never lie,” Kibum snapped, peeling the mask from its plastic sleeve before he continued, voice softer. “Other than the too-nice thing, your face is pleasant to look at, your body’s better than most, and you’re independent. Great boyfriend material, really.”

Jinki’s never been in a relationship for two equally important reasons. For one thing, he’s never been attracted to anyone. He knows when someone is attractive, but that’s the extent of it. He’s never experienced ‘sparks’ or ‘chemistry’ or proverbial ‘butterflies in his stomach.’

“What, are you asexual?” Kibum laughed one night while they watched some music program or another. “Not that there has to be sex or anything, but why don’t you let me set you up with someone, just for a first date?”

Though it was more for Kibum to dress them up (“No, hyung,” the younger boy muttered while extracting his wallet, “this wasn’t just an excuse to shop”) Jinki finally agreed to a double-date. To Jinki’s astonishment, it went more or less according to Kibum’s plan. They ate a quick and casual lunch then spent an hour playing in photo booths. The only problem was, no matter how pretty, sweet, and funny the girl was, Jinki felt nothing.

“If you’re gay you should’ve told me,” Kibum complained later that week. “I don’t judge, you know that.”

Jinki doubts he’s in the metaphorical closet.

“But I’m not,” he laughed mid-broom stroke (he’d snuck Kibum into the coffee shop after closing). “And I know you don’t. Anyway, you have my blessings.”

Kibum snorted in answer, but nothing could conceal his blush: he’d secured a second date.

Jinki has since consistently and constantly declined further offers to date Kibum’s acquaintances, male or female. Kibum has since been happily committed to the same girl.

“I’m really sorry, but she’s so sick I’m staying with her tonight.”

Kibum’s words are rushed and pleading.

“Then hang up already,” Jinki scolds though far from unkindly. To ensure Kibum understands that Jinki understands, he adds with a chuckle, “I’m a big boy. I can do it myself.”

“No you can’t,” the other boy jibes. “Knowing you, you’ll probably—”

“Give me some credit,” Jinki interrupts. Before Kibum can say anything more (it wouldn’t be to give Jinki the credit he asked for anyway), he chirrups a “Going now!” and ends the call.

Even as a taken man for the past year, Kibum has maintained his position as Jinki’s best friend. In fact, nothing in their routine has changed. Kibum still proudly parades Jinki around, and Jinki still lets Kibum play mommy for him. Tonight they were supposed to sort Jinki’s things: to send back home, to toss, to let Kibum have ‘for free and with all your love because I’m awesome.’

It’s Jinki’s last month in the city.

Having locked the door of the café to start cleaning up, he pauses to stare at the multi-colored lights of the surrounding establishments along the narrow street. He’s disappointed to be leaving—his classes, his job, his best friend. But he and Kibum have an unspoken agreement to not discuss the subject directly, not since the first time Jinki brought it up (“Desert me if you must,” the other boy sniffed delicately. “I love you, so I forgive you”). Jinki’s even disappointed that in the four years (three of them with Kibum as his sidekick—or is it the other way around?) that he opened himself to whatever came his way, he never took the chance to welcome those butterflies into his stomach.

He shakes himself mentally, and that’s when he notices the boy on the sidewalk: about his age, large headphones over his wayward hair, an expression of polite concern.

“You okay?” Jinki lip-reads.

Jinki blinks. When he touches his cheek, his fingers come away wet. Eyes darting upward, Jinki almost jumps. The stranger is now at the door, sliding his headphones off and around his neck then pointing at the lock.

“Trade an ear for coffee?”

Even muted by the glass, the boy’s voice is warm and inviting, genuine. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but Jinki unlocks the door. The stranger lets himself in, grinning toothily, and walks past Jinki to do a round of the café. Jinki can only watch curiously.

“So,” the boy says, his smile gentler when he faces Jinki once more, “wanna talk then make my drink, or the other way around?”

Jinki’s mind slips back into place.

“Nothing to talk about, really,” he says, striding across the room and behind the counter, then peeks around the espresso machine. “But sure, what do you drink?”

“Playing hard to get, huh?” the boy muses aloud. “They say it’s easier to open up to a stranger.”

Jinki begs to differ, he just doesn’t know on which point.

“I’m supposed to be cleaning,” he says instead. “So if we could get this free drink business over with—”

“Then I’ll work for a latte,” the other boy announces, approaching the counter to grab the broom propped against the wall.

Jinki can only watch.

“Go on then,” the stranger laughs.

Jinki doesn’t know why, but he does as he’s bid. The café fills with the sound and smell of grinding coffee beans. Then Jinki thinks he hears something over the hiss of the steaming milk: singing. When he finally shuts off the steam and lowers the pitcher, yes, it was—is singing. Because the stranger hasn’t stopped. Jinki can even hear the broom swishing in time. He doesn’t know the song, but he knows that the voice resonating about the otherwise silent café is (for the stranger’s height and attitude) strong and clear and confident.

“Butterflies.”

“—huh?”

When Jinki doesn’t answer, the other boy makes his way over.

“Say something?”

“I—no.”

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” the boy asks with a small smirk, looking pointedly at Jinki’s hands.

Flustered, Jinki turns to the mug of espresso, all the while distinctly aware of the unfamiliar fluttering in his belly, of the boy’s gaze.

“Want me to do latte art?” he offers, a small quiver in his voice.

“Not unless it’s a dinosaur.”

Jinki chuckles, glad it sounds natural, and pours the foamed milk carefully, watching a heart blossom out of the velvety mixture. Setting the mug in front of the stranger, Jinki earns a single shout of laughter.

“Some raptor.”

Still, the boy’s smile is impossibly brighter, and he rests the broom against counter to bend forward, his face hovering inches above the steaming mug. Jinki watches as he takes a tentative sip. And that’s when Jinki remembers—

“Wait, sugar—”

But a contented sigh escapes from the stranger nonetheless, and the flurry of paper-thin wings starts up again when he peeks up at Jinki through his bangs.

“ ‘S good this way,” he murmurs before straightening and picking up the mug to drink more comfortably.

Jinki sighs as well, and heat rises up his neck when the other boy blinks at him over his latte. Jinki shakes his head meekly, then busies himself with cleaning the already-clean steam wand and the already-clean countertop.

“So, you gonna talk about your problems or not?”

The stranger’s voice is fuller, huskier from the hot beverage, and Jinki wonders if a  _swarm_  of butterflies is possible.

“What are you doing around here so late?” Jinki asks in answer, resolutely avoiding the other boy’s eyes.

There’s a lengthy pause, the boy indulging in the latte a bit more, before he says, “Wanted to find the apartment opening up in a few weeks.”

Jinki freezes. The blood drains from his face, the fluttering ceases in his gut, but the quake in his voice is worse than ever. What’s that saying about fate and fickleness?

“Near here?”

“Few blocks,” is the belated reply.

Jinki finally looks up when he hears ceramic on wood.

“It was really good,” the stranger says, and Jinki believes those dancing eyes and high cheekbones and pouty lips. “Anyway, maybe next time you’ll trust me with your feelings.”

With one last lopsided grin, he turns on his heel and heads for the door, easing his headphones back atop his head. Jinki’s moving around the counter and after him before he realizes it himself.

“Wait—”

The boy faces him expectantly.

“Your na—”

“Kim Jonghyun.”

Jinki rolls the name around in his head before holding out a hand. Jonghyun takes it, giving it a vigorous shake.

“Lee Jinki.”

“Jinki,” Jonghyun confirms with a nod. “Later then?”

Somehow breathless, Jinki just nods as well.

The next time they meet is the following evening, Jonghyun popping up after closing again. Jinki starts at the tapping on the window but immediately laughs when he sees it’s Jonghyun, grin still toothy, eyes still impish, finger again pointing at the lock. But this time he has two bowls of jajangmyun (“To cover last night’s latte,” Jonghyun says, “and a chai tonight”). And Jinki happily obliges, quickly adding two mugs to the humble table Jonghyun’s set for two.

The next time is exactly one week later and in broad daylight, Jonghyun swaggering in, head bobbing to whatever’s flowing from his headphones. And this time he pays, though not before propping his elbow on the counter, resting his chin on his fist, and positively flirting with Jinki. (“Sparks,” Jinki thinks when he jams his finger in the cash register.) Jonghyun spends the rest of the day in the café, accumulating several mugs. And each time Jinki glances at him, Jinki decides the butterflies are as caffeinated as Jonghyun.

That night, they establish that Jinki is older by some odd months (“Then I’ve been rude this whole time,” Jonghyun laughs, hardly apologetic), that Jonghyun’s dream is to be a singer (“I don’t see why you can’t,” Jinki gushes. “Your voice is amazing”), and that Jonghyun may be the one person in the country Kibum doesn’t know (“Seems fishy,” Kibum mumbles over the phone, which Jinki corrects with, “Dinosaur”).

“I won’t be around for the next couple weeks,” Jonghyun admits a week later, perched comfortably atop one of the tables, having showed up while Jinki wiped the others.

“Oh?”

Jinki already knows.

“Yep, finally get to move in,” Jonghyun says gleefully. “Still haven’t seen the place, but think about it. The next time I see you, we’ll practically be neighbors. You live close by, too, right? Maybe…”

It’s the first time Jonghyun sounds unsure of himself, and Jinki stares at the other boy.

“Maybe what?”

Jonghyun shrugs before saying, “Maybe we should finally exchange numbers? You know, so I can call you over and you can help me unpack or something?”

Jinki feels his mouth smile, feels his heart clench. He sidles up beside Jonghyun then pulls his phone from his pocket.

“Selca first?”

The younger boy answers by slinging an arm across Jinki’s shoulders and drawing their bodies closer. Trembling, Jinki wraps one arm around Jonghyun’s waist and extends the other, phone in hand.

“Now?”

Jinki doesn’t live by clichés.

“Or never.”

But he thinks of how they’ll probably miss each other by a few hours when Jinki’s apartment becomes Jonghyun’s, how there’s no point in trading numbers, how meeting Jonghyun was the first time he learned a bit of what it’s like to be in love.

Once Jinki leaves, there’s no next time.

So he turns his head and touches his mouth to Jonghyun’s cheek. The younger boy jerks away, and for a moment the butterflies’ wings crumple. But Jonghyun just huffs a small laugh before facing Jinki and leaning forward. Jonghyun’s lips are full, warm, and taste of the maple latte Jinki made.

“Let me see the picture,” Jonghyun breathes into Jinki’s mouth.

Jinki doesn’t remember taking the it, but there they are on the screen: his eyes closed and his lips about to brush Jonghyun’s cheek, Jonghyun peeking at him and sporting a delighted, knowing smile. Jinki sets it as his new wallpaper, and Jonghyun just laughs and kisses the corner of Jinki’s mouth, obviously pleased.

Jinki doesn’t want to leave.

“Time to get up.”

Jinki rolls over and latches onto the other boy, pressing his face to the sleep-warm neck to stifle a sob. Kibum tightens his arms around Jinki briefly.

“I’ll miss you, hyung.”

They spent the entire last week together in light of Jinki’s impending departure. And though Jinki told himself he should be the one comforting Kibum, it was the younger boy constantly offering reassurances.

“He texted again.”

Jonghyun.

This last week, Jinki trusted Kibum with his phone or he would never be able to leave.

The last hours in Jinki’s apartment are surreal. Kibum heats up the remaining leftover curry rice he made the other night, and when they sit on the barren floor to eat, it’s with neither tears nor words. They wash Kibum’s plastic containers together before bundling up in Kibum’s blankets once more, waiting for Jinki’s taxi.

“What’s love supposed to be like?”

“It’s forever or never, isn’t it?”

The car arrives when it’s supposed to which is far too soon. But before Jinki leaves, he reclaims his phone from Kibum. He makes sure not to open it, just leaves it on the kitchen counter. Kibum watches heavily but says nothing. They close the front door together.

Jinki stares at Kibum from inside the cab, the containers tucked under one arm, blankets under the other. He can’t wave goodbye, but that’s fine. Jinki does it enough for the both of them. Settling back against the seat, he thinks about seeing his parents after all these years, after giving his final destination.

“Asan Medical Center, please.”


End file.
